Feathers
by Feather
Summary: H/H////Struggling with his new-found feelings for Hermione while trying not to hurt her again, Harry must find himself....


Title: Feathers

Author: Feather (--')

Genre: Romance/General

Category: Harry Potter

Rating: PG

One-shot fic

Author's notes: I have very much for a long time wanted to do more Harry Potter fanfiction. I absolutely love doing this genre. However, Christmas-tide draws nigh, and I have very little time for my inspirations to be thoroughly planned out and completed. I just want this piece to be a holiday gift to all the nice people on Fanfiction.net. It's been exactly a year since I've come to this vast web community, or close enough ^.^ (actually, I think it was the 26th when I first found it)! So thank you all and may you have a blessed, safe holiday! **This is Harry/Hermione***sighs* again... If you have a problem with that, then don't read this! I have grown rather fond of this pairing, yet I still enjoy other types of fics, so no flaming! This fic is not a great work of art, yet I think it turned out rather nicely. Thank you, happy holidays~ Feather =^.^=

~~~~~

Hermione laughed, gesturing for Harry to follow her. He had a dubious look on his face, yet followed the ecstatic Hermione. They passed the gates of the castle, onto the Hogwarts grounds that were heavily blanketed in snow.

Hermione looked back at Harry, who found if difficult to keep up with Hermione's rapid pace. She smiled back at him, her lips barely turned up at the corners, teasing him. "You're starting to get slow, Mr. Potter," she said, gently chiding him.

He started into a brisk run to catch up with the laughing Hermione, who easily sent him spiraling around the grounds trying to catch up with her. The both collapsed in the snow. "No, Miss Granger, dearest of friends: I do believe it is you, not me, who has been getting faster." For some reason, it sent them both into hysterical fits of laughter.

The laughter subsided, and Harry looked at Hermione. She lay flat on her back, her pale face tilted to the bleak sky and eyes closed, several snowflakes fallen upon her cheeks and her thick eyelashes. She was wholly unearthly, a fallen angel, her smooth lips parted slightly, lightly taking in the fog, as if her entire existence needed her to taste the air, smell the snow, breath in winter. A delicious shiver of intense longing ran up his spine, her beauty astounding him in such degree that he could not keep himself from sighing at her sheer loveliness.

When has she grown so lovely? he thought, amazed. Was this the girl that was crying in the bathroom only five years ago, the genius? Has she always been this way and I never noticed it? His breathing grew labored, and he could hardly control the heat rising deep in his chest. He started to tremble, not knowing what was coming over him. In a silent second, he was hovering over he, pressing his mouth over hers in a kiss.

She opened her eyes, fear and rage flooding her senses. Immediately, she pushed him off of her, her eyes brimming with tears, and fled to the castle.

He ran his hands through his hair, sighing. What have I done? Why did she leave? Why is she crying? Questions swamped his mind, his heart heavy in dismay. She's my best friend, what have I done? How could I have done that?

The normally cheering Christmas trees that adorned the Great Hall looked crestfallen and old as Harry entered for the Christmas Feast. Dumbledore got to his feet, and gestured for him to join the teacher's table, where the teachers and remaining students sat. "It's quite ridiculous to use the House Tables when there are so few of us. But the more the merrier, Harry, do have a seat!"

He slid into the only open chair, wedged snugly between Hermione and Collin Creevy, who looked positively delighted to sit next to Harry. Harry carefully avoided Hermione's eyes and continued the dull conversation Collin carried out and pulled several Wizard's Crackers with him.

  
Laden with gifts, Harry excused himself to the Gryffindor common room early. Settling himself in an armchair, he stared into the dancing flames that seemed to laugh at him. Blankly, he washed himself away in an endless sea of sorrows, the deep pain of Hermione's rejection lying heavily on his chest.

A vague whisper of movement sounded near the portrait ending. Harry turned toward it, in a precious second of hope praying it was Hermione. The person entering fled to the shadows, and judging from the small frame, it could have been either Collin or Hermione.

Closing his eyes, taking off his glasses, he leaned back into his armchair, sheer anguish flooding the deepest depths of his soul. He had hurt Hermione. The haunting image of her eyes was burned into his mind, the shattered trust and rage piercing his heart as painfully slow as broken glass.

The figure who had before entered gently pressed its fingertips and hands to his closed eyelids, covering them. "Guess who?" the voice whispered, Hermione's voice, trembling slightly. Harry covered her small hands with his own, lifting her hands off, and put his glasses on. He continued the face the fire, not daring for a moment to say a word.

  
In a brave moment, he swept his eyes across her image, her creamy face set in deep concentration. He quickly glanced out the window, snowflakes falling, the feathers dancing slowly to the ground. The moonlight streamed in through the highest windows and illuminated the grounds below. Harry looked at her face again, and saw her crying silently, her tears catching the moonlight for a fraction of a second, pure crystal light falling gently to the carpet below.

Silent and catlike, he crept over to her, wiped away her tears, and settled himself back into the armchair. She came over to him, then pulling away, and he, wanting to have her but not daring to harm her, made no effort to pull her to him. Inner battles raged in his mind, his heart, his entire being, wanting to control the hidden longing that he had so recently discovered.

But was it so recent? As long as I can remember, I've always loved Hermione, he thought, his heart desperately taking hold. She has been my teacher, my comfort, my deepest companion, my friend. She can't ever love me back the way I love her.

"You're afraid of me, Hermione," he heard himself say, softly, kindly, silently accusing her. She nodded, and he faltered.

"Little-afraid, like a bird who wants to come to you, but is little-afraid, wanting to stay home but wants to fly away." Her kind words touched him, and he tried to imagine that she was not just trying to make him feel better.

"The only think that hurt me today," Hermione continued, starting to smile, though trembling a bit as she came over to him, "was how it had taken you so long."

Harry started to smile to, and without realizing it, drew her to him, embracing warmly. Her smile grew, and he saw within her for the first time the endless circle of her love for him. She was his, so finally his, and knew the old saying was true: If you wait a little while, the fruit will fall into your hand.

"So what took you so long?" she suddenly demanded.

He smiled, for the proverb was becoming more in more evident, her perfect love for him silently washing over him. "Everyone can reach the sky, Hermione. We just have to find our wings first."

~~~~~

Closing notes: All work has been done consciously respecting others' works. As far as I know, this is my original idea, but if not so, please forgive anything that may resemble anything in other fics. Thank you all, Happy Holidays! ~ Feather =^.^=


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